


The Fine Art of Fooling Everyone

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Breathplay, Dom Misha, Dom/sub Undertones, Hotel Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sub Jensen, VegasCon 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 19:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14432514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: Post-VegasCon 2018. Jensen and Misha have a little quickie before hitting the road for home.





	The Fine Art of Fooling Everyone

**Author's Note:**

> This is... this is mostly porn, with a tiny bit of fluff thrown in at the end. Complete PWP. I... there is no excuse for this, except that I am hopeless Cockles trash. The first few lines of conversation are taken from actual events that happened at the con (Jensen's implied having "done" Jared in Vegas; Jared licking Misha); everything else is just my imagination running wild.

“You implied that you regretted having sex with Jared.”

“Yeah well you let Jared lick you. Gross.”

“You haven’t ever  _ had  _ sex with Jared, have you?”

“You know I haven’t.” It’s a rushed conversation, because they only have about an hour before they’re due to be at the airport, and they both know Clif and Jared will be knocking down their door in 30 minutes, max. This has to be quick and it’s going to be messy and even though sometimes Misha thinks they’re getting way too old for that, he can’t help but admit that it’s exactly this kind of spontaneity that keeps them young. Jensen shucks his undershirt and virtually pounces on Misha. “We’ve had this conversation.”

“Mmmhmmm good. Now shut up.”

Jensen’s voice drops a full octave. “Make me.”

“Brat.” A hard kiss on the mouth, closed lips, and in fact he bars Jensen’s tongue with his teeth when Jensen tries to take control of the kiss. The result is that he bites Jensen’s lower lip, and just to make himself absolutely crystal clear, Misha runs the very tip of his pointed tongue along that slice of lip between his teeth before he lets go. When they part, he knows the lust and fire he sees in Jensen’s eyes are reflected in his own. He can feel the need burning all the way up his body - a tingle in his toes, shooting up his legs and spreading warm and low in his belly.

He growls, bears his teeth possessively, and lets the feeling of desire consume him completely before pouncing on Jensen with the full push of his body and one powerful thigh wedged between Jensen’s legs. The younger man doesn’t have a prayer of maintaining his upright position, and Misha catches Jensen’s yelp of surprise with his mouth and lets it roll down his tongue to be swallowed. He’s past all intelligent thought - like an Alpha Male in a lesser-brained species intent on claiming a mate, his cerebral cortex has given way to a steady hum of  _ mine _ and  _ yes _ and  _ want _ . He scrambles to hold tight to a semblance of control, though, just long enough to pull back and heave in a breath, intent on clarifying his partner’s consent.

Because, in actuality, he’s a gentleman and not an animal.

Except, goddamn Jensen fucking Ackles, stripped to his boxer briefs and pinned to the bed and full well  _ knowing  _ he’s about to get fucked into the mattress - he’s fucking  _ smirking _ , and as Misha pulls back, he has the gall to ask, “What? That all you got, old man?”

Misha just stares at him and gives his head a shake in disbelief. “Oh you are  _ so  _ asking for it.”

“Fuck me, Misha.”

“Should I? Maybe I can’t. Maybe I’m too much of an…  _ old man _ … to give you what you need.” He rolls off Jensen, but it’s only to shuck his own underwear, and to grab a couple of supplies from his nearby bag. “Maybe you’d rather have this instead.” He starts up the vibrating dildo and presses it against Jensen’s right butt cheek.

Predictably, Jensen whines and bucks his hips. “No, Mish, c’mon… quit playin’, we ain’t got  _ time _ …”

“Really? So it was purely due to time constraints that you slipped in teasing me while simultaneously demanding that I fuck you?”

“I mean, I’m a pretty efficient-- fuck!” Misha chuckles low in his throat as his first lubed finger penetrates Jensen just the right side of too rough, effectively interrupting the younger man’s train of thought.

“Yeah,” he grits out as he works Jensen on his finger, “You are. Relax your body, Jensen.”

“I’m tryin’! Just you’re all…”

“All what?”

“All  _ bossy _ !”

Misha raises his eyebrows and gives a mirthless chuckle at that. “Bossy, huh?” It comes from his throat, nearly matching Castiel’s gruff tone. He adds a second finger, and Jensen mewls and squirms under him, but Misha’s committed now, so he places his free hand on Jensen’s chest to still him. “If you  _ actually  _ want to get fucked, Jensen, I suggest you do something with your mouth other than antagonize me.”

The reply is no less cheeky than his previous remarks. “Much as I’d love to blow you, I’m not really positioned for that at the moment.”

Misha grunts, yanks his fingers out, and grabs the vibrator he’d abandoned minutes before.

“Oh come on, Mish, don’t-- Ughhh.” It’s in before Jensen can protest any further, resting comfortably against his prostate, and Misha nudges Jensen’s hip with his knee as a persuasion to roll to his stomach. He does, and then pushes up to all fours to find Misha’s erection bobbing at eye level as soon as he’s positioned.

He wastes no time in swathing the head with his tongue, but Misha clearly wants more and isn’t willing to let Jensen play, because there’s a firm hand at the back of his head a moment later, pulling him to take the erection fully into his mouth.Then, before Jensen can fully acclimate, Misha starts a slow thrusting, pushing himself all the way to the back of Jensen’s throat. When Jensen’s nose is flush against Misha’s pubic hair, he glances down, one hand fisted in his partner’s hair to hold him still, keep his oxygen cut off for a moment. “Dont,” he grits out, and pulls out to allow Jensen a breath before pressing back in fully, “Don’t test me. You know better.”

The reply is a muffled mewl of resignation, and just to make sure he’s understood, Misha bites his lip and fucks Jensen’s mouth as hard as he dares for a few strokes before pulling out completely and rounding Jensen’s body to the back. He gives a precursory hard slap to Jensen’s left ass cheek, which causes the younger man to draw in a sharp hiss of breath, but there’s no sass or back-talk, and that’s when Misha knows they’re both ready. He presses lightly at Jensen’s hole with his thumb once before lining up his cock and sliding home in one long, slow push.

Now that they’re here, past the banter that masqueraded as foreplay and down to the actual business of Tab-A-Into-Slot-B fucking, the conversation gives way to harsh breathing and whimpers and moans and very little actual speech. It’s often like this, quiet, even when it’s rushed and harsh - they work well together this way, preferring for words to give way to actions when they get down the business of having sex. The result over the years has been a fine-tuning of their ability to read one another, even when positioned as they are now. Jensen knows the tell-tale sign of Misha’s impending orgasm when his fingers dig into the meat of Jensen’s hip hard enough to leave bruises behind. Misha knows Jensen’s racing to meet him at the brink because he starts fucking back against him, and he reaches down to stroke Jensen’s leaking erection with a practiced hand, just enough pressure, just the right speed, so that it’s Jensen who crests first, clenching down around Misha’s cock and triggering his release in turn.

Misha curls around Jensen’s back for a few beats until his breathing returns to normal, and then pecks a kiss to the back of his neck and pulls out.

Jensen, in turn, groans and rolls over before standing up to press his body against Misha’s for a tender kiss on the lips. “In case there was any doubt,” he says, and noses gently into Misha’s jaw before looking into his eyes with earnesty, “You’re the only man I have any interest in doing the things with that we just did.”

The corners of Misha’s mouth turn up, and he hums in acknowledgement. “No doubts,” he says softly, pressing a kiss into Jensen’s collarbone. “There’s an art to fooling the world, after all. But the reassurance is always nice.”

Their lips meet again, and then there’s a slide of tongues, and it goes on for long enough that Jensen’s dick starts to twitch with renewed interest in a possible second round. His hand finds Misha’s ass and squeezes, eliciting a moan in response--

And then Jensen’s cell phone buzzes from the pocket of his discarded jeans, and he curses and pulls away. The ringtone says it’s Jared, but he doesn’t manage to reach it before it goes to voicemail. He curses again with the device in his palm.

Another moment and Misha’s cell is buzzing, and Jensen dips to retrieve it and toss it to his boyfriend, who punches the screen to answer the call.

“If you assholes are done fucking, we really need to leave five minutes ago if we’re going to have any chance of catching that flight,” is the clipped greeting, and Misha just shakes his head, deciding it’s not worth arguing the point when Jared’s called them out explicitly.

Instead, he glances at the bedside clock before responding, “We have plenty of time. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Send Clif up, we’ll be ready when he gets here.” And he hangs up and turns to Jensen with a helpless sigh.

“Well?”

“Clif’s on his way up. Oh, and Jared called us out on our activities.”

Jensen shrugs into his undershirt. “But he’s known for awhile.”

“True. He just doesn’t often call direct attention to it.” Misha looks down to button his shirt, making sure to get them lined up correctly so that he doesn’t look like he’s getting dressed in a hurry, which is exactly what he is actually doing.

“What you said before,” Jensen deviates slightly in their conversation as he sits down to put on his socks and shoes, “about fooling everyone. We… don’t actually… fool everyone, do we?”

“No,” comes the immediate response. “No, I don’t think we do. But there’s a difference between knowing - like Jared does - and suspecting. The only thing we need to do in order to keep everyone guessing is to sow just enough seeds of doubt.”

Jensen nods, caught somewhere between his lover’s words and his own thoughts and the travel day ahead of them and the lingering feel of Misha against him, around him, inside him. “It’s not easy,” he says finally, pushing himself to his feet just as there’s a knock at the door.

“Worth it, though.” It’s an agreement as much as a consolation, and it gets the small, sad smile and gentle nod that says  _ I love you _ and  _ I need you _ and  _ I wish we didn’t have to hide from anyone at all _ .

And then he opens the door and Clif lumbers into the space, one eyebrow quirked knowingly as he makes eye contact with each of them in turn. “You boys about done?”

Jensen’s face goes from melancholy to cocky in half a beat. “We’re never done. We take breaks, but we always go back.”

Clif shakes his head and waves for Misha to follow Jensen out the door before taking up his looming position behind them both. There’s no one in the hall, and they take a staff-only elevator down the parking lot.

When the doors close, Jensen reaches for Misha’s hand, intertwines their fingers, and gives a squeeze.

Misha squeezes back.

The doors open, their hands fall to their sides, and they exit the hotel side by side, hands hanging loosely between them. Misha’s fingers still fidget for the touch, but he smiles, because the sun is shining and the fresh air is cooling and Jared is making rude gestures from the back seat of the car, vaguely miming what he assumes - correctly - that his friends have been up to.

They click into seatbelts and settle in for the familiar airport ride, and it’s quiet for a minute. Then Jared, without taking his eyes away from the scenery passing out the window, says, “So here’s the thing. When y’all fuck when we travel, I know by about 10 minutes into the ride home exactly how it went down.” Then he turns to face them with two raised eyebrows. “Sometimes I like to make little bets with myself,” he says, in a voice that says he’s clearly amused by his own antics and thinks they should be as well.

Misha offers a grin and a small laugh. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Like for instance. This time, I put my money on Misha taking it up the ass, but from the way Jensen’s squirming in his seat already, I’m pretty sure I got it wrong.”

“Oh my God, stop,” Jensen returns with a roll of his eyes, but when he glances at Misha, he sees a light of obvious amusement in those blue eyes, and he sighs and ducks his chin, defeated. 

“Don’t worry,” Jared stage-whispers across the seat, eyebrows arched imploringly and head nodding with his words, “your secret is safe with me.”

“ _ Nobody’s _ secret is safe with you, Asshole.”

“Lies.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Lies. Y’all have been doing the deed for what, eight years? And I’ve never told anyone. Whatever speculation the fans have, that’s on  _ you  _ and  _ you  _ and not me.” He points at each of them in turn, including himself, to make his point.

“Yeah, well. I guess as long as speculation is all they have.”

“Until you start sucking face in public.”

“This from the man who licked me,” Misha finally pipes up, deadpan, but then his mouth turns up in a smile. “Thanks for that diversion, by the way.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Their banter reaches a natural end, and silence falls over them once again as they approach the airport. Before the car stops completely, Misha reaches out and puts his right hand over Jensen’s left. He leaves it there until Jensen looks at him and smiles.

A camera outside flashes, and suddenly, Jensen goes white as a sheet.

Misha doesn’t miss it. He lets go of Jensen’s hand. “What? What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Mish,” Jensen says, and it’s eerily calm, in contrast to the way his eyebrows are reaching for the car’s ceiling, “did you remember to pick up the, uh,  _ toy  _ \- from the hotel bed before we left?”

Misha blanches at the question, his face matching Jensen’s and both of them slack-jawed and stammering for a solid half-minute before Clif turns around from the front seat, both eyebrows arched. “I did,” he says, and they exhale simultaneously.

He turns around without another word.

Sunglasses and hats on, and Misha lowers his glasses to the bridge of his nose to raise his eyebrows at Jensen. “I think it’s important to point out that in the art of fooling everyone… supporting players are essential, and we should be grateful for them. We couldn’t do this alone.”

Jensen nods, still slightly discolored in the face from his panic.

“I love you.”

“You too.”

“Come on.” There’s a last squeeze of a hand, and then they’re out of the car via opposite doors, not touching and not conversing and with Jared strategically placed between them.

It’s often that way. How long has it often been that way? Since the beginning?

Misha reflects for the first time, his own words still fresh in his mind, that he has no idea.  _ Supporting players are essential, and we should be grateful for them _ .

It runs through his head just as Jared lunges at him with no warning and snatches the cap off his head with a hoot of delight.

He catches Jensen’s eye in a sidelong glance, and they shrug in unison.

Grateful? Absolutely. For both of these assholes, in entirely different ways. 

He tries to keep that in mind as Jared comes back around and attempts to mount him for a piggy-back ride. It’s just to the side of too childish, and he feels his mood slipping.

But one glance up at Jensen’s grin, and he can’t sink any further into melancholy. It brings balance to the madness, as always.

Yeah.

He’s grateful for them both.


End file.
